


Sam Carter Drabbles & Micro Fiction

by theemdash



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Deception, Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Leadership, Mission Fic, Some Humor, Tok'ra, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-09
Updated: 2007-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-17 11:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9320720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theemdash/pseuds/theemdash
Summary: A collection of Sam Carter drabbles and short fiction.Dragging Her Down— Sam/Pete; Sam/Jack — post-"Lost City"The Way We Are— Sam, Martouf, unrequited Sam/Martouf — set season 3/4-ishChain of Command— Sam, Jack, Team — set season 4I Should Have— Sam, Cam — set season 10





	1. Chain of Command (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Jack, Team — set Season 4
> 
>  
> 
> _In the confusion of inexperienced villagers and the crossfire of those villagers accidentally killing each other, Colonel O'Neill had been separated from the rest of SG-1._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to janedavitt for betaing duty

The smoke is still curling off the battlefield even though the action has shifted away from her. Daniel and Teal'c are out of radio contact, but Sam feels like they're okay, safe in the broadest sense of the term.

Her concern is Colonel O'Neill.

He's missing, and Sam isn't sure that he's okay or safe. Those are the thoughts that tease her mind as she tries to think about strategy, tactics, and keeping quiet and low to the ground. It's easier to focus on the facts than wonder where the Colonel is now.

The population of P2R-136 hadn't really like Daniel's tentative suggestion that Nirrti wasn't a real god. They particularly didn't like the words the Colonel used to describe their goddess. Teal'c had barely raised an eyebrow when their formerly gracious hosts drew staff weapons and zats. Sam had gripped her P-90 more firmly, but didn't pull it up even when Colonel O'Neill snapped some nasty retort about being snake handlers. For once, Daniel had the presence of mind to realize the dangerousness of the situation and backed away toward the door.

But the shooting had started anyway.

In the confusion of inexperienced villagers and the crossfire of those villagers accidentally killing each other, Colonel O'Neill had been separated from the rest of SG-1. 

That was four hours ago.

Sam halts and rolls out of the way. A Jaffa patrol rounds the tree line just ahead of her location. They soldier past, clanking in their dull gray armor. 

The Jaffa arrived in four Al-kesh shortly after the shooting started. It seemed like the villagers called them, which meant that there was possibly a ha'tak in orbit. The Jaffa patrols were making the search and rescue mission interesting.

Daniel and Teal'c are trying to commandeer one of the Al-kesh; the Stargate is guarded by both Jaffa and angry villagers. They've been gone for twenty minutes. Radio silence is the only way to keep from giving away their position, but there's a part of Sam just itching to know their progress. She can patiently wait out a chemical reaction in a lab, but place her in the field and her nurturing instincts take over. She just wants to know that her friends and teammates are safe, how long this is going to take, when she'll find the Colonel.

Voices—off to her left—stir her and she crouches. The voices are quiet and unsure, probably villagers, not Jaffa. Loud clanks, like metal against metal, and a familiar grunt. She isn't surprised—and actually spares a smile—when she hears his caustic voice.

"You break it, you bought it."

Sam fights down the urge to break into a run and instead creeps toward the sounds. 

She can see them clearly now—four villagers, two armed with staff weapons, one with a zat, the other with the Colonel's P-90. Colonel O'Neill is on the ground, dirt streaked over his skin and clothes as if he has rolled down a hill, faint scratches and blood marring his scowling face. From what little Sam can tell from a visual inspection, he's okay. One of the villagers—a scrawny man with a crooked nose—kicks O'Neill's knee sharply and his face twists. His bad knees—really anything can set them off, but he soldiers through the pain most days. Sam winces in sympathy.

She's outnumbered and only has surprise on her side. She can risk saving Colonel O'Neill, but even with the villagers' wild shots, the risk is still pretty high—too high.

"Son of a bitch." The Colonel lashes out and grabs the scrawny guy by the man's ankle. The zat goes flying out of his hand as he falls face first. The two holding the staffs race to restrain the Colonel, one of them dropping his weapon. Sam cannot believe her luck.

She stands up, leveling her weapon, and says coolly, "Back away from him."

The villager holding the P-90 mimics her pose, bringing the P-90 around to point at her. 

"Drop it," Sam orders, not letting her gaze stray from the three around Colonel O'Neill.

"You," the villager says. His blue eyes water, betraying his confidence.

"Don't hurt us!" one of the others cries.

"Carter?" The Colonel coughs hard and groans. He may have bruised ribs.

"Sir, I'm getting you out of here," Sam barks.

The Colonel still has his hand around the scrawny man's ankle, but he's flopped to his back, hardly an offensive position. The villager starts struggling and Colonel O'Neill pulls on the leg, forcing the man's face back into the dirt. "I've got everything under control. We were just coming to an understanding."

"I get that, sir." Sam doesn't smile, but somewhere in the back of her mind she laughs at the Colonel's deadpan humor.

Sam moves one step closer.

"Don't move!" The villager with the P-90 shakes, the metal rattling against a beaded bracelet he has laced around his wrist. It makes a sound like rain on an aluminum overhang, pinging and hollow.

"Sir? How's your clip?" Sam asks. She doesn't want to shoot, but whether or not she does depends on the answer to that question.

"Empty." O'Neill grins. "Why else do you think I let him have it?" 

The Colonel's bravado, dumb luck, and twisted humor never cease to amaze Sam. She knows exactly why he's the commanding office and she's just his second-in-command—she's not as crazy as he is.

She takes a bold step towards the group and shouts, "Back away!" 

None of them move; Sam was afraid of that.

The scrawny guy—still in Colonel O'Neill's grip—suddenly lunges and comes up with the zat. She fires on him before he can shoot her. Her bullet tears through his forearm, sending up a small spray of blood, and he cries out, the zat falling from his hand, sliding in the loose dirt. The Colonel switches from gripping the man's ankle to scrambling for the zat.

An empty P-90 clicks to Sam's right, but she's already pushing forward, taking on the villager still armed with a staff weapon. Hand-to-hand should keep people from dying. 

The air tingles with electricity and the sounds of three zat blasts, each one aimed at the other villagers, alive but down for the count. Sam grapples with the fourth attacker, wrestling away the staff weapon.

"Move!" Colonel O'Neill shouts.

Sam ducks and rolls and the Colonel fires. The villager crumples on the Colonel's legs and he curses.

She rushes over to pull the man off and then quickly checks her CO over, noting bruising and cuts.

"Are you all right?" She unscrews the cap to her canteen and forces him to drink.

"Peachy," he says. "Thought you'd have gone for reinforcements by now."

"Would have liked to, sir, but Jaffa arrived and blocked the 'gate." She picks up the Colonel's weapon and moves it back to his hands, passing over a clip as well. He sits up, rubbing his neck and wiping the dirt from his face, leaving more streaks.

"Daniel?" 

"He and Teal'c are trying to acquire other means of transportation." Sam scans the horizon, but aside from the four unconscious attackers and the smoke curling from the village, the area is clear and silent.

"Big honking spaceship?"

Sam smiles, feeling like maybe they're out of the woods. "Al-kesh, sir."

He nods and clicks in the fresh clip. "Can we—?"

His question dies in the sounds of an Al-kesh coming in over them. Both soldiers raise their weapons, not that two P-90s will do much.

Static buzzes at Colonel O'Neill's chest and then Daniel's tinny voice comes through. "Hey, Jack, need a lift?"

The rings swoop down over them and lift Sam and the Colonel up into the Al-kesh. The air is cleaner in the ship, no sharp carbon monoxide from staff blasts. Colonel O'Neill coughs, holding his side.

"I think maybe you bruised your ribs." Sam's hands press in on his side carefully.

"Definitely," the Colonel says. "Or worse."

He winces when Sam pushes in too hard.

"Thanks for rescuing me." He coughs again, his face handsome with his roguish smile. "You're my hero."

"Any time, sir." Sam can't keep the smile from her own voice. She hates missions like this; losing a team member and having to keep her emotions in check until something happens, until that team member is found. It's worse when the Colonel is missing and she's in charge. It's easier to hold her mind together when she's following orders than when she has to think clearly enough to give them. "I'm just glad to have you home."


	2. The Way We Are (unrequited Sam/Martouf)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Martouf, Daniel; unrequited Sam/Martouf — Set Season 4-ish (with a plot point stolen from Season 5)
> 
> The Tok'ra's subterfuge and lack of trust starts to grate on Martouf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for a friend's ficathon, **prompt:** Tok'ra fic

“This is more difficult than I thought it was going to be.” Samantha wiped her brow with the back of her hand, sharing a wary look with Martouf. His smile hitched with his heartbeat when their eyes met.

“What’s wrong?” Since Samantha had arrived, Martouf had hardly left her side. He'd sat with her long into the night as she pounded on her keyboard, trying to decrypt the crystal technology for interfacing with her laptop. By now even Dr. Jackson had gone to sleep.

“There’s something different about this crystal. Like the information is protected.” Samantha turned to Martouf. “Are you sure this is just information retrieved from a Tok’ra operative?”

Martouf bowed his head and when he looked up, it was Lantesh who spoke. “This information came with a high price. The crystal was damaged during the operative’s escape. That is why we cannot access the information as we normally would.”

“I know.” Samantha sighed heavily. “I’m missing something.”

Martouf smiled sadly, having regained control of his body. “You are.” He stood up. “Sleep," he said with a smile, tucking away his misgivings. He held out his hand to Samantha. "It’s late.”

Samantha rubbed her temples. “I want to work a little longer. Don’t let me keep you, though.” 

Martouf began to sit back down.

“I mean it.” Samantha reached out and grabbed his hand. Their eyes met for only a few moments, but it was stretched time for Martouf that reached back into his history with Jolinar and Rosha. She squeezed his hand. “Go on,” she said softly.

Martouf inclined his head, pushing away his past. “Do not work too long. Good night, Samantha.”

“Good night, Martouf.” She picked up Dr. Jackson’s scribbled translation and was already back to work before Martouf had even left the room.

* * *

Martouf’s footsteps echoed off the walls of the empty tunnels. Only those on guard—and those who were engrossed in their work—were still awake. In addition to Samantha, Anise was still in her lab.

Martouf stalled outside the entrance to Anise’s lab. She would want to know of Samantha’s progress and a quick conversation with her now would be more honest than one held in front of Samantha in the morning. Regardless, it was not a conversation Martouf was looking forward to. Finally Lantesh took control and strode into the laboratory.

“Anise.” 

“Lantesh.” Anise nodded in greeting. “How does Major Carter progress?”

“Slowly. The process has been more grueling than she expected. The majority of the problem is the decryption.” Lantesh rested his hands on the top of the lab table.

“I am not surprised. The system is quite advanced. I only hope that the electronic technology of the Tau’ri can bypass the systems that prevent us from reading that crystal.” Anise placed her datapad on the table. She read it briefly and then pressed a symbol on the screen.

Lantesh cleared his throat. “Martouf is concerned about what we have told Major Cater.”

Anise looked up and quirked an eyebrow.

“He believes her progress would be faster if we had given her more—” A mental kick from Martouf caused Lantesh to redirect his sentence. “If we had told her the truth.”

Anise frowned. “We told her all the truth she needs to know. The crystal is damaged beyond our knowledge. How that damage occurred—whether it was or was not intentional—is irrelevant.”

Lantesh nodded. “Martouf believes that if Major Carter were informed—”

“It is not our decision,” Anise snapped. 

Lantesh nodded. He lingered a moment longer and then left for his quarters.

* * *

Martouf returned to Samantha Carter’s workstation early the next morning. He brought with him a mug of the Tau’ri’s precious coffee. He had borrowed a cupful from Dr. Jackson, who had agreed only after he'd made himself a cup.

Samantha had fallen asleep over her laptop again. This time she had at least closed down the screen and lay with her arms over the thin black casing. She looked peaceful. It made everything she was going through seem so much worse.

Martouf set the mug down next to her, allowing the smell and his small sounds to wake her slowly. He sorted through some of Dr. Jackson’s notes. Dr. Jackson seemed to be close on the translations. He and Samantha would figure it all out shortly. 

Martouf feigned a deeper interest in the words as he watched Samantha, her sandy hair shifting over her forehead as she stirred. Slowly she awakened. She raised her head and then rubbed her neck.

“Good morning,” Martouf said quietly.

“Oh.” Samantha jumped. “Martouf. Good morning. Is that coffee?” She reached for the mug next to her. “Thank you.” She took a long sip. “It’s morning?”

Martouf couldn’t help but smile. “You should have come with me when I offered to take you to bed.” He ducked his head and blushed. Samantha didn’t seem to notice. “You might not have slept on your computer.”

She grinned. “Not like that’s the first time.” She stretched her neck out. “I think I made some major breakthroughs last night. It’s a good thing I kept working.” Samantha opened the laptop and pulled up a file. An array of ones and zeros filled the screen. “I realized that I was looking at this all wrong. I had to get down to the absolute basics first.” She punched a few buttons and the display changed. Several Goa’uld symbols glitched on the screen—broken and erratic, but there. “Even so, there’s still work to be done.”

She figured this out much faster than Anise had anticipated. His Samantha was quite brilliant. 

Martouf placed the notes on the lab table and slid into the chair next to her. “I would be happy to assist you.”

Samantha smiled apologetically. She was obviously carefully choosing her words. “I, uh, I’m hoping Daniel can help me finish this off.”

Martouf quirked an eyebrow. “Dr. Jackson is very skilled in his translations, but Goa’uld isn’t his first language.”

Samantha placed the mug down and turned to Martouf. “Daniel’s been working on this already. He, uh, he really wants to be the one to finish this.”

Martouf bowed his head, accepting the polite brush off. “Then I’ll see to it that he comes to assist you. I’m sure he’s finished his report to the SGC by now.”

“Thank you.” She took another sip of coffee. “Really, Martouf. Thank you.”

* * *

Martouf had busied himself with other things while Dr. Jackson helped Samantha with the decryption. When he had no more excuses, he again offered his help, but was waved off by both Dr. Jackson and Samantha. The Council would have insisted he observe, but he didn't want to be the focus once the deception was uncovered. Martouf was certain Samantha would see it as a betrayal. Of all things, he didn't want to betray Samantha.

He retired to his quarters, fighting the urge to go to her. Samantha was here and he wanted to be with her, wherever she was. It wasn’t just because she was Jolinar’s last host. 

_We could easily love her._ Lantesh’s voice in Martouf’s head.

Could _love her?_ Martouf’s sarcasm was palpable. He picked up the gold and carnelian necklace that lay in the trunk.

_I was trying to go easy on you. Your emotions—our emotions—they’re not easily expressed._

Martouf smiled to himself as he toyed with the gold interwoven charm. _I just don’t see any point in you being easy on me._

_In that case—she’s a Tau’ri. It’ll never work._

Martouf covered his eyes. _Maybe talking about this isn’t such a good idea._ He put Jolinar’s necklace—the only possession of hers he had—back in the trunk.

 _It isn’t._

Martouf sat on his bed and rubbed his temples. _Then you’ll—?_

_Keep my opinions to myself. Though you’re not the only one falling in love with her._

Martouf nodded. _I know._

_You’re also not the only one who hurts because we’re lying to her._

Martouf sighed. _If you don’t mind, I’d rather believe that_ you’re _the one lying to her._

Lantesh chucked. _What is it Jacob says? You say tomatoes?_

 _I think I understand._ Martouf clenched his fist. _I just want it to be over—the deception. There’s no reason to lie to her._

_There’s never any reason. Not really. But this is the way we are._

Martouf hung his head. _Sometimes—_

_I know. Sometimes their way is better._

* * *

Martouf was returning to Samantha’s workstation when he heard the raised voices of an argument. The participants: a female Tok’ra to be sure, possibly Dr. Jackson, and most definitely Samantha.

“—wasn’t damaged during an escape,” Samantha accused. Apparently Dr. Jackson finished his translation successfully. Despite the confrontation that was to come, Martouf smiled to himself.

“How the crystal was damaged was not your concern.” Anise was calm, her voice level.

“Damaged? I’d hardly call encryption ‘damage.’” Martouf entered the room to see the look on Samantha’s face—disgust. And when he appeared it was aimed at him, sobering him immediately.

“No, Sam. It’s in the finesse of the words. You just need to have a broader definition.” Martouf had never heard the soft-spoken archeologist speak so vehemently.

“Samantha, I can assure you—” Martouf’s plea seemed as false as what Anise tried to argue. 

Samantha turned to him. The corners of her mouth turning, her features softening. “You lied to me.”

“I never meant to.” It came out as a whisper—meant only for Samantha.

“Moreover—cloning? If you had wanted the technology, we would have _asked_ the Asgard for you.” Dr. Jackson hadn’t lost his wind. The moment between Martouf and Samantha had gone unnoticed.

“The Asgard would not freely give this information. They fear that what has happened to their own race could happen to others if cloning were used as the sole method of procreation.” Anise quirked her head to the side to punctuate her sentence.

“I’m sure they would have made an exception.” Dr. Jackson gestured his frustration in staccato movements of his hands.

Lantesh took over where Martouf’s voice failed. “The Tok’ra have no other means to procreate. But based on our hosts physiology, the Asgard have been non-responsive to our requests.” He turned to Samantha, looking her in the eyes. “We never meant to deceive you.”

Samantha pressed her lips together. “I asked you—directly—about the crystal.”

Anise piped in, “It was the High Council’s wishes—” 

Dr. Jackson grabbed his pile of notes and held out his hand to Samantha. “I’m sure we’re needed back at the SGC.”

Samantha nodded and gathered her laptop and few written notes Dr. Jackson had missed.

“Nice to see you again,” Dr. Jackson told Anise as he passed.

Samantha picked up her things and stopped in front of Martouf. She placed the crystal in his hand. 

“I’m sure you know that the research was being done by Niirti. She was researching on children.” Samantha turned away. “She experimented on Cassandra.”

Martouf inhaled sharply. “I didn’t know.”

Samantha looked at him. “I didn’t know I’d have to tell you.” Her eyes searched his. Martouf tried to apologize, beg for forgiveness. She turned and left.

Martouf stayed and listened as the ring transports took her to the surface. Then he was alone.


	3. Chain of Command (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam/Pete; Sam/Jack — Season 7
> 
> One month after "Lost City," Sam's still having difficulty getting over the loss of Jack and it's beginning to affect her relationship.

“You’re really quiet tonight.” Pete touches my shoulder and I realize I’m staring at the speaker rather than the television.

“I’ve been watching the movie.” I shift away from him.

Pete quirks his brow, reminding me of Teal’c. “Then what’s happened?”

I gesture furtively at the screen. “The cops—got the bad guy.”

“There’s still another hour left.”

“Is there?” I’ve lost my entire conception of time.

“If you’re going to lie, we probably should have watched a movie you’ve already seen.” Pete turns the television off.

I lean over and rub my forehead. The nights I don’t stay awake crying, I spend in the lab, searching. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I understand. You’re a very private person and if you tell me what’s been bothering you for the past month, Colorado Springs will be sucked into the fifth layer of hell.” Pete stands and starts stacking the plates and glasses.

“Pete. It’s not like that.” I grab his arm. I try to say it with my eyes—my CO is gone. Jack O’Neill, the most amazing—heroic—I need to find a way to bring him back. But this time I can’t; he’s really gone.

He’s really gone and I still love him.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so distracted,” I finally say.

“Yeah.” Pete shrugs off my hand. “Listen. I’m here now. I came this weekend because I’m worried. You’re not sleeping.”

I fold my arms, holding myself.

He walks to the kitchen, dumps off the dishes, and returns. “I go back to Denver tomorrow. I can be here tonight, or I can just leave.”

My head throbs. “I can’t.” I gasp and hold my head.

Hands tilt me and my head rests against a strong chest. I wish desperately that the chest belongs to Colonel O’Neill—Jack—but Pete’s scent is wrong; his arms not as sure around me; his heart beat not as strong.

“I can’t live like this.” My words surprise me.

“Like what?” Pete brushes my shoulder and hair.

“Missing him,” I whisper. 

Pete hugs me closer and I feel him exhale slowly. “This is about Colonel O’Neill.”

I want to say, “It’s always about Colonel O’Neill.”

“I know you’ve been trying to bring him back, but. He’s gone, Sam. He’s dead and he’s a weight around your neck, dragging you down, too.” He kisses my head several times. “You have to break those chains that bind you to him—he's going to kill you.”

Pete’s right in so many ways and he doesn’t know it.

I sit up and push my hand under my nose, trying to clean myself up. 

“Pete.” I sniffle and compose myself, taking a shaky breath. “He’s going to kill me because I’m going to let him.” I bite my lip.

Pete stares at me for a long moment. He draws back and his frame slumps.

“I could never compete with him, could I?”

I grab Pete’s hands and squeeze. “I’m here with you. And not just because he’s—gone. I—felt—very strongly—for him.” I emphasize my words by squeezing his hands. “But I’m _here_ with _you_.”

Pete nods, says he knows, but I can tell I’ve lost him. I haven’t lost him the way I lost Jack, but our relationship will never be the same. He knows he’s not Jack and that when I finally get a night’s sleep, it will just mean that I gave up. But Jack will still be there, dragging me down, killing me a little each day just because I never told him—I'm with Pete only because I can’t be with you.


	4. I Should Have (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Cam — set season 10
> 
> Being trapped in a cell makes you think of things you should have done. . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt:** _from wiccanslyr_ "things I meant to do"

"Can you stop that?"

Cameron's eyes shift to Sam, his cuticle clenched between his teeth.

"It's _really_ disgusting."

"We've been in this cell for three days and you think _this_ —" Cameron bites down and yanks. "—of all things, is _disgusting_?"

"And annoying."

Cameron crosses his arms, pouting and put out.

"I'm just on edge," Sam finally admits. "I should have called Cassie before we gated out. Or talked to my brother Mark."

"Yeah, I should have made a few calls, too," Cam sighs. "Like switch to satellite TV. . . . What?"

Hitting her head against the wall is oddly comforting.


End file.
